Well, I close my eyes and I am shaking so that I hardly notice the vibrations of the horn begin, but when I reach the E in the third measure, I know I am feeling what I felt in Benny's. So I keep pushing it, and the last I remember I am trying to reach the high C closing. That is when I pass out.... * * * * * When I come to this time, I am almost afraid to open my eyes. My ears are still buzzing, and I am just beginning to realize weakly what has happened when I hear voices around me which are not part of the score. They are speaking in English. I open my eyes then, and look around. I find that I am surrounded by a crowd of people who are saying to one another to give him air and to take it easy, and I perceive that I am on a city sidewalk, and in fact, as I look up, I see that it is somewhere on Fifty-Second Street. A perfect landing for a tail gate artist, I think as I sit up. * * * * * When the crowd sees me do this they move in even closer, all the time telling one another to give me air, but finally one of them claims that he is a doctor and he helps me up and I go with him and another man in uniform who is probably a policeman. They tell me that they are taking me to a hospital, and I do not remember much after that. When I wake up again, I am in the hospital. A doctor has hold of my wrist, and when he sees me open my eyes he says, "How are you feeling now?" I tell him okay. "Well," he says, "you seem to have had quite a shock, and perhaps you do not want to discuss it now, but your manner of dress and this instrument which you have brought with you have excited my curiosity no little." I see that my trombone is on the table near him. "Why no, I do not mind telling you," I say, "though you might find it hard to believe what I have gone through. But first--where am I and what month is it?" The doctor lets go of my wrist. "You are in New York," he says, "and it is September of the year Twenty-five O Seven." "Just a minute," I say, "I must misunderstand you. I thought you said the year was Twenty-five O Seven." "That is what I did say," says the doc. "But that cannot be true," I tell him. "Why I was born in 1914 and it is not possible for me to be living at such a period in history." He picks up my wrist again. "You are a little excited," he says, "and I think you had better get a bit more rest. Then we can talk this thing over later." I see him say something to the nurse who is standing in the doorway all this time, and she nods as he goes out. I start to call to him but I figure it is no use. So I go back to sleep. The second time I wake up, the doc is back and he has four other men with him. They are sitting in chairs around the room watching me; as soon as they see I am awake they come over to my bed.